


5 times Martin was lonely + 1 time he was not

by sandpapersnowman



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Emotional Manipulation, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Loneliness, M/M, Manipulation, Season/Series 04 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 07:39:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19127560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandpapersnowman/pseuds/sandpapersnowman
Summary: The first 'job' Peter has Martin officially go on is relatively tame.Slowly but surely, Martin gets banned from half the cafes, restaurants, and bars in London.(spoilers up to season 4 things!)





	5 times Martin was lonely + 1 time he was not

**Author's Note:**

> big shoutout to [shigarakis-ankles](archiveofourown.org/users/igy) for helping me figure out Lonely things!
> 
> warning for implied sexual harassment in #1 from peter; nothing too detailed but still uncomfortable lmao
> 
> petition for peter to Leave Martin Alone

1.

The first 'job' Peter has Martin officially go on is relatively tame. He asks Martin to go to a particular cafe a few blocks away; Peter has already placed and paid for the order, and Martin is just picking it up. Simple enough. He has to tell them he's Martin and they'll hand over the lunch Peter's gotten for them.

The woman behind the counter greets him with a smile and a friendly 'how can I help you', and Martin lets her know he's there to pick up an order under 'Martin'. Her smile falters and resettles into something cold, and she mutters 'just a moment'.

She disappears into the kitchen behind the counter and returns with a manager.

"Are you Martin?" the manager asks.

"Yes," Martin confirms, though he's getting a sinking feeling in his stomach. "I'm Martin."

The manager slaps a print-out of the order on the counter and points to the door.

"Get the hell out," the manager says, low enough not to disturb any of the other people sitting inside. "You will _not_ be allowed back here, and we've already filed a police report."

"Wait, w-what do you mean?" Martin stammers. "I'm just here to pick up lunch, I'm sorry, is there something wrong?"

The woman behind the counter scoffs and leaves for the kitchen again. The manager shoves the print-out toward him and gestures to the door again.

" _Get out._ "

Martin does, taking the print-out with him, but he waits until he's run halfway back to the Institute to look at it.

It's mostly normal; two sandwiches, two pastries, one for each of them. In the 'special requests' area marked under the order, though, it's...

_Disgusting_.

Peter has gone on and on. Asking the girls working there to do things for him, leave notes with details about themselves and their _bodies_ in the takeout bag, and a dozen other _perverted_ , possibly illegal things. It nearly makes him gag to read, and it _does_ when he realizes they thought _he_ was the one to — that _he_ had —

He storms into Peter's office without knocking.

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you?" he shrieks. He flings the paper onto the desk, refusing to look at the words again. "Why would you _say_ that?"

Peter seems to think it's hilarious. He laughs at Martin's shame-teary eyes, and laughs again when he rereads the paper with his vile words in physical print.

"What's a ban from a cafe you don't go to anyway, eh?" Peter laughs. "Just a little fun, Martin, lighten up."

He's apparently ordered a real, innocent lunch in Martin's absence, and the bag sits on his desk like _it's_ making fun of him too.

"Don't do it again," Martin snaps, trying not to let tears slip down his cheeks while Peter is still there.

"Sure," he agrees, but he doesn't seem to be paying attention.

Slowly but surely, Martin gets banned from half the cafes, restaurants, and bars in London. The first few times he tried to argue with Peter, refuse to go, but eventually it’s easier to give in and get it over with.

Peter just laughs.

 

2\. 

Peter keeps him busy. Any free time he has goes toward catching up on sleep or trying not to worry about things, then losing sleep worrying about them anyway.

Peter... Helps? Pretends to help. He makes Martin chamomile tea to help him sleep, and offers the couch in his office for him to nap on. The tea is usually cold by the time he offers it to him, and the couch is uncomfortable, and Peter never leaves him alone to let him sleep so he doesn't sleep much at _all_ , but having someone make an attempt to care for him isn't so bad.

The single time he manages to fall asleep, he wakes up to Peter hovering too closely over him, counting his breaths to a timer.

He wishes he could go sleep in the spare room Jon once allowed him to use, when his problems were as simple as _don't get eaten by worms_ and _try not to act too lovesick around Jon_.

He's not even allowed to _see_ Jon anymore. They haven't talked since Jon woke up — an actual miracle happened, Jon waking from his coma after _six months_ , and all Martin wanted to do was be there for Jon to run into his arms.

He misses sleep.

He misses _Jon_.

 

3\. 

Despite Peter's insistence that Martin can simply stay at the Institute, Martin tries to return to his flat at least once a week. He needs to clean his clothes, take a shower with his own shampoo and soap, sleep in his own bed. Maybe even cook something instead of getting fast food or eating whatever Peter hands him.

He's alone in his flat, but heat rises to his face anyway; it'd be nice to jerk off, now that he thinks about it. He hasn't had the chance in _months_ , grief-stricken or busy or not in the mood or always with _Peter_.

After he showers, rinsing off the last week's half-assed hygiene of the Archive bathroom, he flops into bed with a sigh.

He could. He's finally got the chance to. He's only thrown on boxers after his shower, it's early enough in the night he could go slow and enjoy himself to make up for the stress of the last... _Forever_ , really — he doesn't remember the last time he felt relaxed about anything.

Martin slides his hand down. He keeps his fingertips light, trailing them over his stomach and past his cock to run back up his thigh. Maybe he'll finger himself, or even break out the toy he hasn't had time to use in _years_. He should still have lube in his nightstand. Lube doesn't expire, right?

Just as he sneaks his hand under the waistband, there's that _feeling_. Something looming over him like an anvil ready to drop, weight over his chest and his stomach. He'd gotten used to it enough at the Archives, and eventually it made sense that it was Elias watching them all, but feeling it _here_ is new. 

In his own apartment.

With his hand around his cock.

And no word from Elias since Martin got him locked up six months ago.

Is it Peter? He's not a limb of the Beholding, but he's technically Elias's replacement, so would he be able to _use_ the Watcher's power? Would it actually be better or worse for it to be Peter versus Elias?

He tries to continue; he'd always been kind of an exhibitionist before he started at the Institute, but somehow the unseen eye of either your boss, your ex-boss, or the Eldritch horror general idea of being watched isn't as fun as jerking off over a webcam with strangers.

He removes his hand with a frustrated groan. He's not even allowed to _enjoy_ being alone, even though all he's heard lately is that he's not allowed to be around others anymore. Fantastic.

He curls his blanket around himself and forces his eyes shut. At least he can get some sleep.

 

4\. 

Every time he gets on the train, or a bus, or flies out somewhere for Peter, it's... Wrong.

He can rationalize the tube cars being empty; he goes to the Institute at weird hours, sure, and returns to his flat erratically. He dreads getting on at rush hour, almost accustomed to quiet, calm trips, but to his surprise, it's _still_ empty at 8 AM.

The bus is a little stranger; sometimes there _are_ other people, waiting for the bus or already on it when he gets on, but they'll wait for the next bus or simply get off at his stop. The first couple times, he thinks it's just an odd coincidence, but it becomes clearer and clearer that there's a _reason_. The other passengers won't look at him, act as though he's not there, and file out past him without a glance.

Flying, he's told himself, has to be Peter's direct 'influence'. Martin receives one ticket for each flight he takes, but Peter _must_ buy them out. They're commercial flights from London to elsewhere, there's no way every flight he's been on has _happened_ to be empty. He's always the only one at the gate, only one boarding, and the lone flight attendant gives him a single drink and then he won't see them for the rest of the flight.

It's relaxing, in some ways, and those days are some of the few times he's found himself leaning into the Isolation. He can read, or listen to music or podcasts, or simply enjoy the silence that comes with being 10 kilometers high with no company. There's a sense of peace that comes with it, with no expectation from others, no social anxieties, no smalltalk. Just... _Being_. He can hum to himself if he'd like, or tap his fingers on the plastic armrests until his fingertips go numb, and he won't get any stares or turned heads or general bad vibes.

He almost likes it. Never enough to choose the eerie stillness of the Lonely over everything else, but... Almost _likes_ it, at least.

 

5.

He hasn't seen Jon in almost two months.

He hasn't _spoken_ to him in nearly _six_.

Peter's been insistent about avoiding contact, and he understands this is going to keep them all safe, but... God, he _aches_. Jon's never shown any interest in him, or none that Martin could pick up on, anyway, but he's still his _friend_ whether he returns Martin's feelings or not.

He's used to making two cups of tea when he's at the Archives. He makes the excuse that he's made some for Peter, but Peter never drinks it. They both know it's made with no sugar and a little milk. Made for _Jon_.

He catches himself daydreaming about running into Jon while he's travelling for Peter. Maybe they're both in Spain following up on the same lead by accident, and then they _have_ to work together, they really should, since they're working for the same person, right?

And it's _great_. It feels easy to travel with Jon, walk with him through ancient places and sit shoulder to shoulder to read something together. Things feel so natural being together again, and it's so refreshing just to hear his voice in person rather than over a tape.

(Maybe sometimes he dives a little too far into the 'daydreams' and makes them more into fantasies, thinking about Jon fucking him in some hotel in Spain and spilling his cock all over 500 threadcount sheets in the nice hotel _Peter's_ gotten for him.)

(He never worries about being loud in the hotels. Nobody else will be on the same floor as him, or above or below him.)

Jon's never there, though. Jon probably hasn't left the Archives basement in weeks, if at all, since the last time he saw him.

Martin can tell himself Jon's going to be around the next corner as many times as he wants.

He won't be.

 

+1

Jon's office is warm compared to the chill that's settled in Elias's office now that Peter's there. Martin isn't sure if it's just because it feels more welcoming, or just because Peter turns _everything_ cold, or if it's just _Jon_.

He'd 'had enough', Jon had said. 'Need to see you in my office, now,' he'd said.

With the thrill of disobedience, he'd followed Jon. Peter said to avoid him, but Jon is still technically his boss. Have to do what he says, right?

Jon's mouth falls against his. Martin's not sure how they got here, frantic, confessions slipped in somewhere between mumbled words like _I missed you_ and _I'm sorry_ from them both.

He presses Martin back, makes the backs of his thighs hit his desk and suggest he sit, and Martin does so _gladly_. Jon slots between his thighs perfectly and huffs a satisfied noise into Martin's mouth, smiling wide enough Martin feels it against his teeth, and something in him _breaks_.

Tears slip down Martin's face as Jon kisses him. He's _warm_ inside, like his heart's been trapped in a block of ice and Jon's chipped through it to hold it himself, and it takes Martin stuttering on a sob for Jon to pull away.

"Shit," Jon mutters. "Are you okay?"

Martin nods, though he takes the opportunity to wipe his cheeks dry with his knuckles.

"I needed you," Martin says, his voice cracking. "I really needed you."

Jon smiles again, softer as he realizes they're happy tears. _Relieved_ tears.

"You too," he says. "I didn't know until you weren't here, but it's — I've missed you so badly," Jon sighs.

He kisses Martin again as though he can't keep himself away, and Martin's arms wind around his shoulders to trap him close.

They don't talk as much as either of them would like, but it's made up for in hands and tongues and _noise_.

The Lonely isn't worth more than this. The peace and quiet isn't worth losing _this_. Losing _Jon_.

**Author's Note:**

> supplemental: i am also on tumblr as sandpapersnowman [here!](sandpapersnowman.tumblr.com)


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